


Strange Bedfellows

by De Orakle (Delphi)



Category: Once a Thief (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Partnership, Rival Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-03-28
Updated: 1999-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/De%20Orakle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A contemplative morning for a man and his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Bedfellows

The first rays of sunlight had just begun to pour through the window, but he was already up, showered, and was currently watching his partner sleep. He almost preferred these moments, when all pretenses between the two were dropped, there was no need for their constant verbal sparring, and he could just sit here and drink in his partner's unique beauty. The years had taken their toll on the two of them, scars and wrinkles on once flawless skin, but in his partner's slumbering form, he could still see the traces of the young man he had fallen in love with.

They had of course had their problems when they were first recruited for the Agency. Actually, they had hated each other. With a passion. Being partnered with a woman for whom they had both had feelings had only made the situation worse. Still, it was hard to stay hateful towards a man when you put your life in his hands every day. What started out as ruthless barbs had slowly grown into playful teasing, which they continued to this day.

He couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he remembered that fateful night so long ago. They had been on an undercover operation, trying to root out an assassin taking out politicians with ties to the Agency. Both men were upset about having to work surveillance together and had been even less pleased when they had found out that there was only one room available in the hotel where their target was staying. For two nights, they had squabbled incessantly over who would sleep in the bathtub and who got the bed. Then, on the third night...

After losing the assassin, and each too cowardly to face the Director, they had consumed quite a large amount of tequila and had woken up in bed. Together. In a state of undress. Of course, both of them had been suitably horrified, apologizing profusely and swearing each other to secrecy upon threat of death. Then his partner had made that fateful remark: "...and I wasn't even sober enough to remember if you were any good." And he had simply stared.

Whether they had actually had sex that night or whether they had merely stumbled into bed shedding clothes along the way, neither knew. His partner had found out just how good he was later that day. And the next. And every day for the following week until the Director barged in on them, a knowing look on her face, and dragged them back to HQ.

The following years had not been easy for either of them. Their third partner had not been happy when they began paying more attention to each other than to her. There had been assignments when they had to measure each other's worth against the good of the mission. There had been days when good-natured digs hit too close to home, days of silent treatments. There had been nights when the cloak and dagger nature of their jobs, their relationships, their lives had been too much. There had been times when one had walked out, swearing never to return. But they got through it, each instant bringing them a little closer together.

He smiled as his partner stirred in his sleep, pulling the covers to his body in a long-practised maneuver designed to rob him of a warm night's sleep. He was so peaceful like this. Almost...innocent. It was a look that never graced his fine features during the day, during the routine killing that made up their careers. Only in sleep or in the languid afterglow of sex did this soft expression let itself be shown.

He glanced at the alarm clock. He really should start making breakfast, or else his partner would be moaning about it for the rest of the day. God, but the man could be annoying. It was for that reason that most of the newer operatives at work could never understand their relationship. The constant insults and sparring that to some seemed malicious was a remnant of the days when that was the only way the two could flirt in public. In fact, to this day, nothing made him hotter under the collar. Just last night, after a rousing debate mocking each other's taste in music (a long-standing argument), they had fallen to the bed in passion. For an hour, they had been young again, each touch as new as it had been all those decades ago. They had explored each other, giving up all pretence of the detachment that came with the job, and had simply expressed the deep affection they shared. As always, they slept tangled up together in their antiquity of a bed until the sun woke him, whereupon he would follow his normal routine and indulge in his five minutes of morning voyeurism.

He reached out and ran a hand over his partner's silky short hair, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He almost jumped when the phone on the nightstand shrilly bleated its electronic tone. Almost. His lover sat up abruptly, instantly alert. He reached over and hit the speakerphone button. The young Director's icy tones came over the line.

"Murphy, Camier, I need you down here ASAP."


End file.
